A servant took his coat and suit-case with marked but subdued respect.  Men whom he knew and some men whom he scarcely knew at all made it a point to speak to him or bow to him with a cordiality too pointed not to affect him, because in it he recognised the acceptance of what he had fought for—­the verdict that publicly exonerated his father from anything worse than a bad but honest mistake.

For a second or two he stood in the great marble rotunda looking around him.  In that club familiar figures were lacking—­men whose social and financial position only a few months before seemed impregnable, men who had gone down in ruin, one or two who had perished by their own hand, several whose physical and financial stamina had been shattered at the same terrible moment.  Some were ill, some dead, some had resigned, others had been forced to write their resignations—­such men as Dysart for example, and James Skelton, now in prison, unable to furnish bail.

But the Patroons was a club of men above the average; a number among them even belonged to the Pyramid; and the financial disasters of that summer and winter had spared no club in the five boroughs and no membership list had been immune from the sinister consequences of a crash that had resounded from ocean to ocean and had set humble and great scurrying to cover in every Bourse of the civilised world.

* * * * *

As he entered the dining-room and passed to his usual table, he caught sight of Delancy Grandcourt lunching alone at the table directly behind him.

“Hello, Delancy,” he said; “shall we join forces?”

“I’d be glad to; it’s very kind of you, Duane,” replied Grandcourt, showing his pleasure at the proposal in the direct honesty of his response.  Few men considered it worth while to cultivate Grandcourt.  To lunch with him was a bore; a tete-a-tete with him assumed the proportions of a visitation; his slowness and stupidity had become proverbial in that club; and yet almost the only foundation for it had been Dysart’s attitude toward him; and men’s estimate of him was the more illogical because few men really cared for Dysart’s opinions.  But Dysart had introduced him, elected him, and somehow had contrived to make the public accept his half-sneering measure of Grandcourt as Grandcourt’s true stature.  And the man, being shy, reticent, slow to anger, slower still to take his own part, was tolerated and good-humouredly avoided when decently possible.  So much for the average man’s judgment of an average man.

Seated opposite to Duane, Grandcourt expressed his pleasure at seeing him with a simplicity that touched the other.  Then, in perfectly good taste, but with great diffidence, he spoke of Duane’s bereavement.

For a little while they asked and answered those amiably formal questions convention requires under similar circumstances; then Duane spoke of Dysart gravely, because new rumours were rife concerning him, even a veiled hint of possible indictment and arrest.